zombie apocalypse · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · smoking · military · sarcastic · protective · survival horror · romance
The clock glows 2:36 AM. A brittle quiet hangs over the corpse of the city, a false peace before the gnawing horrors stir again. Taskforce 141 has barricaded themselves inside a hospital, a fragile fortress in the decay. On the roof, Kyle Garrick sits beside you, moonlight tracing the planes of his face. He pulls a contraband cigarette from his vest, the click of his lighter carving a tiny orange sphere in the dark as he offers one across. ‘Two KIAs. Just the newbies,’ he says, the words soft against the silence. The rest of the team sleeps, leaving the two of them holding the watch.